A NotSoBeautiful Friendship
by drink-tea-and-carry-on
Summary: When Gilbert Beilschmidt meets Arthur Kirkland, a rebellious thick-eyebrowed punk who speaks like the Queen, a not-so-beautiful friendship begins. But as pasts are revealed, can this friendship survive? Or will it become something even more?   PrUk
1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

It was only quarter to five and already it was dark. Snow flurried down, but not the white fluffy kind that everyone loved, but the dirty harsh kind that was really more like sleet, illuminated by the neon glare of the streetlights until it landed on the pavement, mixing into a filthy muddied slush that pooled in the dips and corners of the roads. It hadn't been expected; it was only early December and it was predicted that more snow would be on the way, a rare occurrence so early in the winter season. Most sensible Londoners had already been driven indoors, into the warmth and comfort of their homes, and those who were forced to stay out carried rather abused umbrellas, ones that tugged toward the strong gale that was just the thing that they wanted to avoid.

Gilbert swore viscously as the wind pulled his umbrella inside out and the sleet quickly plastered his silver hair to his thin face. The umbrella was ripped from his hands and it continued to tumble down the street, crashing into various walls and knocking over dustbins as it made its merry way down the road. Gilbert didn't bother to chase after it; he was already soaked to the bone and even if he retrieved it, there was no point keeping it, it was broken anyway. He shoved his hands deep into his armpits and squeezed tight to try and warm them up. It hadn't been a good idea to trust his best friend and go for a walk despite the looming death clouds of doom that were rolling over London, even if Antonio had insisted that the day would be sunny. Neither had it been a good idea to leave his coat and scarf behind. Nor to take the long way through the park, which as lovely as it was on a clear day, was now a very bad choice, paths already sloshing with mud and slush and huge puddles that Gilbert tried to jump over but ended up landing in and getting himself wet all over. In fact, Gilbert didn't often make good decisions. Since their mum wasn't around and dad was always at work, it was normally Ludwig who made the important choices, despite being the younger brother. Suddenly there was the flash of lightening and the boom of thunder soon followed, as the sleet started to increase. Gilbert gritted his teeth and took shelter under a nearby tree. He would wait out the sleet, at least until it calmed a little. Patting his pocket, Gilbert cursed his awesome self for forgetting his mobile. Ludwig was probably gonna worry himself to death and call the police or something if he stayed out for too long. Which was defiantly not awesome. He had told his little brother that he'd only be out for an hour, two at the most, and that first hour was already up. Gilbert looked toward the sky; it didn't look like the sleet as going to stop anytime soon. He closed his eyes and felt the sleet rain down on his face and for a while the world was silent until suddenly Gilbert's rare sense of tranquillity was broken by a slimly glob of mud spattering right across his left cheek and all over his favourite t-shirt.

"Fuck." Gilbert muttered to himself, trying to wipe the blob off his face only to smear it further. He looked around angrily, to see a teen only a little shorter than himself sprinting down the path, not bothering to dodge the puddles of mud and water that littered his way, heavy black boots sloshing through. Mud flew all around as he ran and by the time that he had passed Gilbert, his clothes were already splattered with mud and wetter than they already were.

"Hey man!" Gilbert called out. "Hey!" The boy did not look back. Gilbert, furious at being ignored started to race after him. "That was totally un-cool! Listen to me, you bastard!"

The boy stopped and turned, with a smirk pulling his lips up at the corners. Green eyes glimmered dangerously, framed by eyebrows that reminded Gilbert of squirrels' tails. A silvery sheen covered his skin, sleet or sweat or both, he wasn't sure. Gilbert stopped too, panting slightly. The boy's sandy hair was messy; sticking out here and there, all choppy and uneven as if he had had his haircut by a blind overactive five year old whose inspiration was the mangy dog that strolled in the alleys, pawing in the rubbish for scraps of meat, but somehow this strange style suited him. He wore a black Sex Pistols t-shirt, dirtied and torn at the edges, dark grey skinny jeans that were frayed and covered with splats of black paint as well as black and dark red marker drawn anarchy symbols and bursts of a rant that circled the waistband and continued into his pockets and popped up randomly all over his legs, only to be obscured by the loose belt that hung off his thin hips. Scuffed black boots covered his feet and mangled leather gloves covered his hands, fingers ripped off. A studded wristband strapped around one wrist and piercings covered his ears and one ran right through his right eyebrow.

His bare arms folded over his chest and he glanced up and down at Gilbert's muddied clothes before his smile grew even wider and smugger and he pulled a bent cigarette out of his pocket along with a Union Flag lighter and he stuffed into his mouth, lighting it and taking a deep puff before looking back at Gilbert.

"What do you want?" He demanded, though his tone was bored.

This last remark sent Gilbert spiralling over the edge into the deep chasm of rage. Silent, an unusual thing for him, he scooped up and handful of mud a walked calmly up to punk boy, and slapped it right in the middle of his t-shirt, licking his lips and smirking as he rubbed it deep into the material. Gilbert watched his emotionless face, looking for any sign of anger but the face remained passive. He took one last drag of the cigarette before flicking it from his fingers to the ground and puffed the smoke in Gilbert's face and suddenly he was sent reeling to the ground, head ringing and jaw aching. The punk chuckled and began to walk away when Gilbert lunged for his legs and he was pulled to the ground and mud, where the two teenagers proceeded to battle in the muck, with growls and shouts of 'fucker!' from Gilbert and 'wanker!' or 'git!' from the other. Eventually the punk was kneeling on Gilbert's chest with a knee on his throat, lip bloodied and eye blackened. He gave that annoying smirk, and spat next to the albino's head, with the threat 'try that again, I'll spit in your mouth' before getting up. Gilbert had come out worse, left nostril bleeding and pretty much the whole right side of his face beginning to swell up and bruise into a horrible reddish purple mass. Wiping the blood from his mouth, the blonde teen then proceeded to reach a hand down to Gilbert. He looked at it, slightly confused and the boy shook it a bit before frowning.

"Come on. Aren't you going to get up or not?"

Gilbert raised an eyebrow and didn't respond, but he took the hand and with his help, pulled himself up on the sloppy earth. He pulled his sleeve across his nose, leaving a streak of crimson on his hoody, but it was already ruined so he didn't really care. The adrenaline that was still rushing through Gilbert's veins was starting to calm down, but he still felt as jumpy as deer caught in spotlights. He stared at the blonde teen opposite, suspicion obvious in his hellish eyes. No words were exchanged between the two, but the punk pulled out another two cigarettes and held one out to Gilbert, already lighting his own. Gilbert took it and nodded towards him, pulling out his own lighter to light the stick in his fingers. He sucked the fumes in eagerly, sighing in relief as the craving that had been bothering him for days died away and he grinned at the punk, whose lips quirked up in response. The two teens stood in the night, surrounded by billowing clouds of smoke, not saying a word but the silence wasn't awkward.

"Fuck!" Gilbert suddenly shouted and a flurry of vulgar curses escaped from his mouth as his hands shot up and began ruffling his silver hair. There was a frantic tweeting and a flash of yellow flew around his head and settled on his shoulder before the albino swatted at it and swore. The punk began to laugh as Gilbert twisted around, shaking his arm furiously as it refused to move.

"Bloody hell, what is that?" The blonde boy snickered as a frustrated Gilbert plucked the bird off his arm only for it to fly back around his head.

"I don't know," Gilbert said irritably as he tried to catch the small thing in his cupped hands. "Some fucking sort of canary or something. It keeps trying to build a fucking nest in my awesome hair whenever I come here!" He complained as the bird then proceeded to get tangled in his spiky locks.

When he freed the bird, it then landed on his nose and pecked him in the forehead - receiving a yelp of pain from Gilbert – and flew off. Gilbert growled and ground the stub of his cigarette into a tree trunk, leaving the stench of burning wood and cigarette fumes on the air. The punk was still chuckling and Gilbert glared at him.

"What's so funny?" He snapped.

"Just your flailing. It's bloody hilarious to watch."

"I wasn't flailing! People as awesome as me don't flail!"

It was the beginning of a conversation that lasted for over an hour.

The punk's name was Arthur, Arthur Kirkland and Gilbert noticed that he spoke like the Queen, odd considering his appearance, though his uncommon accent was somewhat marred by his rough tone and foul mouth. He had been running from a policeman that he had punched in the face after the 'wanker' tried to confiscate the pack of cigarettes that he was now sharing with Gilbert. Even though he had stopped chasing the teen by the time he got to the park, Arthur kept on going because he liked the look on peoples' faces when a punk muddied their clothes.

"The look on _your_ face in particular," Arthur said as he puffed a few smoke rings into the snow which was now falling thicker but still refusing to settle, "Was especially fucking funny, with those freaky eyes and hair of yours. Are those contacts lenses?"

Gilbert shook his head and grinned. "Nah, I'm-"

"-Albino. Thought so."

Arthur was fifteen, three months younger than Gilbert. They were _meant_ to go to the same school, but the punk hadn't shown up since the year before while Gilbert and his family were still in Germany, and the officials had given up and stopped bothering to try and make him go, so he skipped without trouble. He had three brothers, was the youngest of them all, and each one had moved out and buggered off as soon as they hit sixteen and Arthur hadn't spoken or heard from any of them for at least three years. 'Bunch of gits', he described them as. 'Fucking awful buggers that don't give a shit about anyone but themselves'.

Eventually, Arthur took off, murmuring something about booze and Gilbert began to walk home, in a better mood than he had been before. It wasn't a long journey home, only about five or ten minutes, Gilbert wasn't sure what exactly, he didn't have his watch. It was probably on his bedside table, along with his mobile and wallet. He had barely touched the doorbell when the door slammed open, revealing a very angry looking thirteen year old, blonde hair that was always combed back dishevelled and loose.

"GILBERT! MEIN GOTT, BRUDER, WHERE WERE YOU? I THOUGHT YOU'D BEEN MUGGED OR WORSE, YOU-" Ludwig shouted, hands gesturing wildly until he saw his brother's battle wounds. The albino wasn't exactly shocked when he saw his brother's face quickly transform from anger to worry, considering that his face was a pulpy, muddy mess. "Mein Gott, Gilbert, what happened to your face? You _were_ mugged, I knew this was going to happen, I'll call Vater and-"

Gilbert grabbed his brother's shoulders and stopped him from running for the phone.

"West, stop, I'm fine, and I _wasn't_ mugged. There's no point calling Vater."

Ludwig bit his lip and folded his arms but nodded.

"At least let me get you some ice then." Ludwig said and turned.

Gilbert grinned and started running up the stairs.

"Thanks West!" He called down to a more than slightly annoyed Ludwig, who just sighed.

On that day began a not-so-beautiful friendship.

**Author's note: **Well, there you go. The first chapter of my first fanfic dedicated to the awesome pairing PrUK! There's not enough love for this pairing and it's one of my favourites. Though the pairing in this fic probably won't get going for a while. Sorry, any readers who were hoping for some GilbertxArthur action is going to be disappointed. Since this is my first time writing fanfiction, don't be surprised if the characters are OOC. Also, this story is a bit unrealistic, though the bit about Arthur and the policeman could happen, punks are known for their hatred for police (I think) and a lot of the younger people in the UK think the police are a bit crap (unless their riot police, of course, they're damn vicious). Anyway, thanks to anyone who reads and reviews this and I hope you like it.

It began snowing in England abnormally early this year, though for the first day or two it was only sleet and didn't settle. This story is set in London, though, as stated above, Gilbert and his family were living in Germany up until a year ago when they moved to the UK.

Now, translations. I used google translate, sorry if anything is wrong. These are simple, but just in case...

Mein Gott- German for My God

Bruder- German for brother

Vater- German for father.

Oh yeah, the characters Arthur Kirkland, Gilbert Beilschmidt and Ludwig do not belong to me, they belong to Himaruya Hidekaz.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Gilbert didn't see, speak or hear from Arthur for the next two weeks. In fact, Gilbert had all but forgotten the boy that he had met in the park, stranded under the shelter of a tree's branches as the sleet poured down. So when he was hit full in the face with a lump of snow so hard that Gilbird was knocked out of his hair, it was safe to say that he was more than a little shocked.

"_WHAT THE FUCK?" Gilbert shouted through a mouthful of snow, teeth tingling painfully from the icy cold. _

_He brushed the snow from his face and saw the newly named Gilbird lying bright and yellow in a heap of snow, looking dazed. Gilbert felt the freezing sting of ice on his cheek and growled, picking up a fistful of snow in one hand and the yellow bird in the other, settling him on a bench, where he gave a weak chirp before falling to the ground with a puff of snow, not too dissimilar to a tiny nuclear cloud. The albino turned to see the punk standing with that all-too familiar smirk on his face, rolling another snowball in his red-tipped fingers. Gilbert slowly gripped the snow in his fist into a tight ball behind his back and walked towards Arthur._

"_Hey, Eyebrows." Gilbert said, smirk rivalling Arthur's very own, but at the new nickname, the punk's smile fell right off his face to be replaced by a scowl._

"_Don't call me that, git."_

_Suddenly, Gilbert whipped out his arm from behind his back and threw the snowball as hard as he could in Arthur's general direction, the snowball smashing in his ear and pulling one of his piercings out. Arthur gasped as the freezing snow entered his ear and snarled._

_Arthur scooped up snow in his now brilliant red hands, brightened by the cold and so did Gilbert. Then they attacked. By the end of it, Arthur was once again victorious and left Gilbert lying face down in the snow, panting heavily. He grumbled as he picked himself up, looking crestfallen._

"_How come you always win?" Gilbert muttered bitterly. "You're shorter than me." _

"_And I had three older brothers growing up."_

_Gilbert crossed his arms, pouting._

"_Ah, don't look so blue..." Arthur ran back to the place where he had been standing first. "I've got booze." He said happily, waving a two-litre of cheap beer in front of Gilbert's face. "It's not enough to get completely pissed off our faces, but enough to get a bit tipsy."_

_So the two trekked in the deep snow to some more secluded part of the park, the place where chavs and other drunken teens skulked in late hours when the park was meant to be closed, where they sat on a fallen tree trunk, passing the bottle to and fro until it was finished, and they were both visibly a bit drunk. Arthur's face was red and his acidic green eyes were drooping; Gilbert looked similar, though he gave the odd hiccup every now and then. Arthur pulled out a cigarette and tried to insert it into his mouth, at first hitting the side of his mouth but eventually succeeding._

"It's getting hot here, (so hot), just take off all your clothes..." Gilbert slurred drunkenly, beginning to pull his shirt over his head. "I am getting so hot, I wanna take my cloothes off..." He sang, off key.

Arthur glanced at his friend with drooping eyes and blinked slowly. He had gotten drunker than intended as he was quite the lightweight, he admitted. Gilbert wasn't so far gone, but the alcohol reacted badly with his highly explosive personality. He waved a hand, flopping it weakly.

"S..stop it. Put your clothes back on...you berk." He said, frowning, going the slightest bit pink and averting his eyes. "You'll get a..a... ahh, what's it called?"

Gilbert snorted. "Don't be such a fucking fag, Artie. We're both men, d-dead sexy men at that, so what's the problem? Well, at least, _I'm_ fucking sexy." He giggled and Arthur fumed. "And I'm far to awesome to get sick, you should know that by now."

Still Arthur looked away, burning brighter from alcohol and embarrassment.

"I didn't know that choo were such a pruuude." Gilbert moaned, poking Arthur in the side of the head, who swatted the albino's hand away.

"I'm noooot."

"Then take off your shirt, it's boiling!" Gilbert garbled, gesturing around to the surrounding snow.

Arthur scowled but proceeded to strip off his jacket and t-shirt, exposing his thin but wiry arms and chest. He shivered slightly and Gilbert grinned, slapping him heavily on the back and Arthur winced. Gilbert looked at Arthur, whose torso and arms were blossomed with the purple-green of slow healing bruises. One particularly large one bloomed from one shoulder to halfway up the back of his neck, hiding under his studded collar that was still wrapped around his neck. When Gilbert looked more, he noticed a slight, smaller bruise under the punk's choppy fringe.

"Holy shit, where did you get all those bruises?" Gilbert asked, alarmed, happy giddiness all but vanished, but still swaying slightly with intoxication.

Arthur rolled his shoulders and sighed, looking a bit sheepish, and giggly.

"I got into a _little_ fight a-and looost..." He said, chuckling sadly. But his eyes were no longer hazed but sharp and bright.

"Well," Gilbert said, hiccupping, "If you see them again, tell me, we will kick their asses."

Arthur grinned. "Thanks mate." The punk slipped down and off the fallen tree trunk back into the snow, teetering before regaining balance. Gilbert was not so lucky and he fell face first with no shirt on into the freezing cold, gasping loudly. Gilbird took this chance to jump on his head. Arthur pulled Gilbert up and Gilbert slung his arm gently around Arthur's shoulders and poked him in-between the ribs.

"You're reeeally skinny, you know? You need more MEAT on your bones."

Arthur narrowed his eyes and pushed Gilbert's arm off him.

"You're not much better. Besides, my dad doesn't cook and the last time I tried I nearly set the house on fire. A takeaway from the local curry place and fish and chip shop is good enough for me."

The cold was sobering them, and Arthur's words were no longer so slurred, Gilbert's hiccups gone.

"If you come over some time, Ludwig will cook for you. He's fucking awesome at everything, especially German food though, and German food is awesome!"

"Ludwig's your brother right? What about your mum or dad?"

Suddenly Gilbert looked very sad and stopped for a little while before he continued walking by Arthur's side.

"Dad works a lot, he's barely ever home...My Mum's gone too, you know. Like yours."

Arthur glared at Gilbert and they both stopped, Arthur looking angry.

"How do you know about my mother?"

"You don't talk about her much and it's always only your dad. My mum passed away, a year ago, while we were still in Germany. Breast cancer." Gilbert said softly, voice raw, looking into the sky before glancing back at Arthur. "What about yours?"

"She's dead." Arthur said bluntly. "She was killed when I was nine." His eyes sparkled in a way familiar to Gilbert before he looked at the albino. "You're smarter than seem."

Gilbert chuckled, the mood was gone. "You're less badass than you let on."

Arthur growled and punched his shoulder. Suddenly Gilbert grabbed Arthur's shoulder and started dragging him along.

"What the fuck?"

Gilbert span round and pressed a finger to the surprised punk's lips, and pulled on his coat, not bothering with the shirt. A mischievous grin plastered his alabaster face and he bent down to mould a snowball in his hands before running behind a tree, pulling Arthur behind him. He pointed to a young couple sitting on a bench, snuggled in each other's arms. Gilbert gagged and made retching sounds as they started to make out on the bench.

"Fuck, they're practically sucking each other's faces off." Arthur snickered and picked up some snow, getting the idea.

Suddenly there were cries of outrage and screams and snow soaked the two strangers who jumped up and looked around. Arthur threw another snowball at the man, who proceeded to chase the boy while Gilbert jumped to shake one of the branches of the tree, dumping a whole load of snow on the sappy female who started to cry, large, over exaggerated tears. Hearing his spouse's sobs, he charged back and forth between the two teens who pelted him with snowballs before fleeing, laughing all the way. Gilbert nicked a cigarette and lighter of Arthur, lighting it and smoking it quickly, before he arrived home, Arthur at his side.

**Author's note: **First of all, a big thank you to MelodyOfStarshine for reviewing the first chapter, and also to anyone else who reads this story. Unfortunately, due to school, clubs and general family stuff, updates here will probably be quite irregular. Italics meant that it was in the past, by the way.

Drunken scene. Arthur is definitely OOC in this one, he's not too depressed _or_ in his waiter outfit! Sorry if the drunks seem a bit fake, I haven't had any experience with drink as I'm definitely too young.

Chavs- I'm not sure if you guys over in the U.S. use this term, or know what it means, if you don't, look it up on urban dictionary, you'll get some pretty funny and for the most part accurate explanations there.

Gilbert Beilschmidt, Arthur Kirkland, and Gilbird all belong to Himaruya Hidekaz.


End file.
